Chat Log
by Takaratoast
Summary: Mikado is suffering from heavy depression after getting rejected by Sonohara, abandoned by Kida, and The Dollars die down. The result being some impulsive cutting. ONESHOT. TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm/cutting. M for cussing, just to be safe.


Chat Log.  
By Takaratoast

**Disclaimer:** I DONT OWN ANYTHING DSKFADHFAJ

**A/N:** SOOO a friend gave me this idea annnnd I went with it. Ha~ I've never written anything like this before sooo it probably is really off and oh my god it sucks I just know it please don't read it hfakshfajs *dies*

**TRIGGER WARNING: **Contains cutting/self harm

**Pov: **Mikado Ryuugamine

* * *

Fuck... fuck... FUCK!

Masaomi is gone.

The Dollars no longer had a purpose.

And Sonohara had so... _kindly..._ turned him down this afternoon, claiming she had another _love_ that was much greater than anything she could ever feel towards Mikado.

Because a simple "I don't feel the same way" was just too cliche'd.

Those three things, were his life, what gave him meaning... what made life worth living. And now he'd never see Masaomi again, The Dollars would just sit there idly, not doing anything; not there for any purpose other than losers on the internet chatting on forums, and he couldn't even look at Sonohara without a searing pain in his chest.

Fucking fantastic.

The teen let out an angry sort of growl as he slammed his fist down on his desk, staring up at his computer screen. There were two tabs open, The Dollars BBS Main page, who's forums seemed to be uncharacteristically slow, and the chat room, empty.

Celty, Izaya, Sonohara... at least one of them was always online... so where were they?

A dark chuckle escaped Mikado's lips. It was obvious. After Kida left and the gang rivalry settled down... people became disinterested with the Dollars. It wasn't cool anymore. It wasn't mysterious and hip. It was just... a website.

And for some reason, that hurt.

Kida leaving without a word hurt.

Sonohara ruthlessly rejecting him hurt.

It all, fucking, hurt.

And he was bored.

He came to Ikebukuro to escape the mundane, and somehow he had just fallen right back into it. Class rep, the top of his class, and no longer a top dog of the underground. He was just Mikado Ryugamine, broken hearted and empty. All he felt was pain; pain and nothingness.

Two things that he couldn't control, two things that he hated.

He clenched his fists tightly, the tips of his nails digging into the flesh of his palms, reminding him that he had forgotten to trim them.

He could feel the pain from the growing punctures of his rounded fingernails, and yet, it didn't hurt, nothing did; and somehow, that only angered Mikado.

It angered him that he couldn't control how he felt, he couldn't control his pain, he was the mighty anonymous leader of the Dollars but he couldn't control a single thing.

He couldn't stop Masaomi from leaving.

He couldn't make Sonohara love him.

He couldn't make his members come online.

He couldn't escape the mundane.

At the least... couldn't he at least control his own pain?

He slammed his fist down on the desk again, this time hard enough to shake the computer screen, and most probably leave a bruise on his hand.

To hell with that.

If he was going to hurt this bad, if he was going to live through this pain, than he wanted... no, he needed to control it. To control something.

He stood up quickly, walking slowly to the kitchen, like the empty shell that he might as well be. Mikado didn't cook much, most of the meals he prepared himself were instant, so when he moved to his own apartment to attend Raira, he hadn't exactly had the kitchen fully stocked. But he had what he was looking for.

Knives.

He opened his silverware drawer and pulled out a small sized knife with a sharp blade. He closed the drawer with a slight slam and set down the knife, for a moment just staring at it.

He wanted this.

No, he _needed_ this.

But _where?_

It was summer, so he would likely want to be wearing short sleeves and shorts daily, as he was now, which would mean arms and legs would be a stupid choice.

His stomach?

So long as he stayed out of water, he planned on being fully dressed around whomever would want to hang around him, so it seemed to be the smartest choice.

So he stripped, practically ripping off his shirt and tossing it to the floor.

His stomach began to tingle as he picked up the knife bringing it closer to his body until the blade touched his skin, just above his navel. He pressed it to his skin until he felt it break, then dragged the blade across his abdomen, ripping the skin in the process.

When he pulled the blade away, there was a twisted grin on his face.

It hurt.

Fuck. It hurt badly.

But it was okay. Because he was in control.

He could stop, and end his pain, his physical pain, or he could keep going, and only hurt more.

It was his choice, so he kept going, cutting across his original wound, the making new ones across his abdomen, blood oozing out of each one, the grin on his face only growing more twisted as tears began to unconsciously leak out of his eyes.

Cut after cut the pain in his stomach grew worse, salty tears mixing with blood and stinging his wounds.

But it was okay.

Because he was in control.

He knew why he was hurting.

He knew when the pain was going to increase.

He knew that when he stopped that the pain would slowly begin to ease.

But most importantly, for that moment, the physical pain overwrote his emotional agony.

By the time he had dropped the knife, there were at least twenty gashes on his stomach, some smaller, some longer and deeper than others, each one bleeding heavily. He stared at his wounds for a moment, watching the blood drip, watching _his_ blood drip down to his pants, most probably staining them.

Fuck.

He was bleeding a lot.

He bent over to pick up the shirt that he had tossed away earlier, the movement irritating the wounds, causing Mikado to wince as he straightened back up, the cuts bleeding even more due to his movements.

"Shit..."

He pressed the fabric of his shirt to his abdomen in a futile attempt to aid the bleeding, the fact that he would never be able to wear that shirt again, suddenly becoming obvious.

He cursed again when the blood kept coming. If this lasted too long he'd likely pass out...

_Ding._

_'What? ... The chat room?'_

_Ding._

He made his way back over to his desk and opened the tab with the chat room.

[Byakura has entered the room]

Byakura? The noob to the room that no one, besides Kanra, knew who he was?

[Byakura has sent you a private message]

/Mikado\

/I know its you, Izaya confirmed it.\

/Its me, Masaomi.\

Mikado's eyes widened as he watched the words appear on his screen.

/Look man, I'm sorry I left, I just... needed to get away... and I should have said something. But I guess I had some pretty shitty timing.\

/I heard about what happened with Sonohara, also courtesy of Izaya-san.\

/And I also figured you'd be upset about whats going on with the dollars.\

/So I figured you'd probably be doing something pretty stupid right now.\

/And really, I don't blame you, anyone in your situation would.\

/But at times like this, just remember the words of our dear friend Setton~\

/"The world is not as cruel as you think it is~"\

/There's always some kind of hope dude. And anyway, I'm not gonna be gone forever, I'll come back sooner or later. And I want you in one piece when I do.\

/Anyway. Gotta run. Catchya later~\

[Byakyra has logged off]

Mikado read the chat log over and over. His previous tears welling up in his eyes at his friends words.

"Shit..."

He dropped his head on his desk table, letting his tears flow out.

"I am such... an idiot."

* * *

_So yeah... THERE IT IS. Hope you all liked it and I weeded out all the grammar/spelling errors (BECAUSE SPELL CHECK WORKS ON NOTHING). Reviews are greatly appreciated~!_


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